A Critical Analysis of Jean Jaques Rousseau’s Reveries of a Solitary Walker

The notion that one might rediscover his identity through “the study of nature and the contemplation of the universe” incarnates the bare essence of romantic thought (Rousseau, 50). World literature has historically echoed this concept and brought it to light through such characters as Shakespeare’s King Lear, who engages with nature and his own soul upon that famous heath. Alienated from the world and its deception, he retreats into the wild, unpredictable sanctuary of a storm and begins his journey back to reality.

Even the biblical gospels expose this inherent magnetism towards nature: “In the morning, long before dawn, [Jesus] got up and left the house, and went off to a lonely place and prayed there” (Mark 1:35). Jean-Jacques Rousseau recognizes this tendency in his own individual experience and unfolds his personal encounter with nature as a response to “the torrent of this world” (Rousseau, 50). From this lonely, solitary place, Rousseau, in Reveries of a Solitary Walker, unveils the shining, sweet liberty of nature and the true impetus of every romantic’s engagement with his own heart and environment.

Rousseau’s reveries betray his deep love for the natural world, and convey the real and imaginative engagement he experiences when he finds himself alone in its midst. During his third walk Rousseau neither toils nor endeavors, but rather stumbles upon himself in the unconfined, free world of nature:

Lonely meditation, the study of nature and the contemplation of the universe lead the solitary to aspire continually to the maker of all things and to seek with a pleasing disquiet for the purpose of all he sees and the cause of all he feels. When my destiny cast me back into the torrent of this world, I found nothing there which could satisfy my heart for a single moment. Regret for the sweet liberty which I had lost followed me everywhere and threw a veil of indifference or distaste over everything around me which might have brought me fame or fortune (50)

The two predominant themes that surge forth from this text are the value of “the study of nature” and, in contrast, the way in which the world-i.e. society-cannot “satisfy [the] heart” (50).

This principle idea-the study of nature-calls for a movement away from the rigid and tame world of society and toward the intimacy of solitude of man and nature. This nearly spiritual meditation on and contemplation of nature and the universe harks back to Rousseau’s notion of being “entirely taken up with the present,” unhindered and fully aware both of the individual self and of the natural world (39). That seemingly infinite fount of contemplation is that which has driven poets such as Coleridge and Wordsworth to walk unceasingly, encountering reality in every step and with every word.

The result of such meditation causes the student of nature “to seek with a pleasing disquiet for the purpose of all he sees and the cause of all he feels;” that is, to reach down to the depths of his soul by observing to the utmost the natural world. Nature in this way incites its student to seek his own higher purpose in both his seeing and feeling. The “pleasing disquiet” is a beautiful paradox regarding the rapture of an encounter with nature and the disquiet of seeking the mysteries of the individual self. Consequently, this encounter serves as a respite from society and its many impositions upon the individual.

After a wonderful, concise description of the exceeding value of meditation on nature, Rousseau is thrown “back into the torrent of this world,” and finds “nothing there which could satisfy [his] heart for a single moment.” In stark opposition to the beautiful, solitary contemplation of the universe, in society there is nothing but dissatisfaction and frenetic movement. Rousseau on a previous walk goes so far as to reflect: “thrown into the whirlpool of life while still a child, I learned from early experience that I was not made for this world, and that in it I would never attain the state to which my heart aspired” (48).

This passage mirrors the idea that the romantic is not “made for this world” but rather for imaginative engagement with nature. The employ of a very specific vocabulary also colors the vision of society; that is, the appearance of the words “regret”, “indifference”, and “distaste.” The concepts that these words embody work in direct contrast to the “pleasing disquiet” of nature. It seems that society to Rousseau is a quenching force, and perhaps the “whirlpool” or “torrent” that the world is, must not be the true reality of life. Consequently, if “lonely meditation” and “the study of nature” more truly animate, liberate and satisfy, then is it not more real than society? To augment this idea, probably the most capturing portion of the passage is Rousseau’s disquieting recollection: “regret for the sweet liberty which I had lost followed me everywhere.”

The true romantic recognizes the freedom of the natural world, and it manifests itself in the rest of life, even if it surges forth in the form of regret. The romantic life is the very haunting that Rousseau felt in the midst of his everyday life; the continual feeling that he has lost his “sweet liberty.” The bright indulgence of nature’s study shows the romantic that there is an entirely greater reality, and it leaves the taste of tepid water to partake of anything less than its quenching flavor. According to Rousseau, it “threw a veil of indifference or distaste over everything around me,” that is to say, after communing with nature in its quiet sanctuary, the world is completely dissatisfying.

For Rousseau, there is no greater study than nature, that “lonely meditation,” and no greater aspiration than to “seek with a pleasing disquiet for the purpose of all he sees and the cause of all he feels.” Upon reading this passage, the romantic feels the clarity of communication with the natural world and with the individual self, and understands the significance of being “not made for this world” (48). Just as Lear begins to obtain a less clouded view of reality and Jesus goes off to a secluded place to pray, so Rousseau retreats from the “whirlpool of life” to meditate, contemplate, aspire, and seek with a pleasing disquiet in his soul (48). In such few words, the foundation for romantic thought is laid; both the pursuit of meaning in individual experience, and nature as a respite from the “torrent of this world” and a refuge in which to discover reality. Any romantic – from the end of the eighteenth century to the present moment-will surely observe the fundamental strain of the soul’s unrest in the world and with a haunting recall his own “sweet liberty lost”.

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